Lullay, lullay, my tiny child
by MildeAmasoj
Summary: Ygraine knew what the price to pay for an heir was, but she did nothing. She accepted it. Rated T for canon character death and non-graphic childbirth. No slash.


**Hello! ****I almost cried while writing this one-shot. Wrote it in a bit more than 3 hours. It's not beta'd. **

**Rated T for canon character death and non-graphic childbirth.**

**Each paragraph is a period of Ygraine's pregnancy. It's my first time writing her so thoroughly and writing in present tense, so I'm a bit nervous about this. **

**Anyway, I hope you'll like it!**

* * *

**_Lullay, lullay, my tiny child_**

* * *

**10 weeks**

* * *

Ygraine knows, right from the moment when Gaius tells her, that hers is no normal pregnancy. She knows, and yet does nothing. Worse, she pretends not to know what the price to pay will be, knowing that an heir will be worth it a hundred times, while a child of her own flesh will be worth it more than a thousand.

She knows that someone will die for her child to be born — she knows that most likely that someone will be herself. Nimueh told her. She knows it, and accepts it.

After all, it is her own fault. She is the one who couldn't conceive — not naturally, at least — so it is only fair she has to pay the highest price.

At first, she keeps her cool about it. As a queen, she has always known she would have to make sacrifices, to get through hard times, and always keep her head up and her neck straight.

_"You're expecting, my lady."_

Gaius' words in her head sound as clear as when they were said, a week ago. The initial shock at the discovery, and the following squeal of delight that left her lips — she still flushes when reminded of her unladylike reaction — and the wonderful feeling of finally being _whole_.

The idea of having a child inside her still makes her giddy. It has been her wish for so long, and now that it's true she almost can't believe it.

Almost, because the small, but evident, bump of her belly makes it real, and lets her know this is no dream.

She is surrounded by elation and showered with gifts and good wishes and hugs and kisses and she feels... _So happy _that she feels like she could burst.

The looming shadow of death that follows her at her every step is forgotten for some time, disappearing into the light of joy around her.

She only realises how foolish of her it was to accept the price so readily when she first feels the baby move inside her, about four months after the discovery.

* * *

**25 weeks**

* * *

Her bump is more noticeable now, and it forces her to assume an awkward position which makes her lower back hurt. She finds waking tiring, but laying in her rich bed is absolutely out of question, and so is sitting down for the whole day.

So, even though she has to rest often, she walks around the palace and in the royal gardens almost all day long — when she's not busy with documents to sign or treaties to discuss with her husband.

When Uther has some free time, he always spends it with her. When she sees the utter joy in his eyes whenever he touches the bump, she wonders if he knows how it will end. She is sure he does, but he probably has not truly understood what it _means_. Uther has always been like that, too impulsive in his decisions, and unremovable after making them. He also hates to admit any mistakes of his doing, that is why Ygraine prefers to avoid talking to him about the matter.

She is surprised by her own calm. You would think that the normal reaction to knowing of one's own imminent death would be panic, or at the very least fear. Ygraine, however, has never been as serene and at peace with herself as she is now.

That is, until she feels something shift inside her. For a moment, she irrationally thinks she is about to give birth, but then realises it is just her baby moving.

It is a stroke of luck that she is alone in her apartments, saving her from the embarrassing situation of bursting into tears in front of someone else. She likes to be in control of everything, or at least to look perfectly composed, as a queen should always be.

She blames the hormones, as Gaius calls them, for the way her chest spasms with sobs. She has _never _cried so much and so messily, not since she began to talk and walk.

Then why has a mere movement of her baby shaken her so badly?

She throws herself on the bed and buries her face into the cushions. _Her baby_. A human being, who lives inside her and though small, is probably already able to think and move.

Wiping her tears away, she sits up and looks at her bulging belly. "Hello," she says, her voice rough from crying. She clears her throat and says again, "Hello. Hello, baby. I'm your mother, your mum. My name is Ygraine. I'm your mum and I love you. Can you hear me?" she asks, feeling stupid for talking to her stomach.

To her surprise, the baby moves again. A half-laugh, half-sob leaves her throat. "Well," she chokes out, still feeling emotionally overwhelmed. "I guess you can. Do you like the sound of my voice?"

Another small, almost imperceptible movement. She isn't sure the baby is trying to communicate, but it sure feels amazing to think that it is.

She lays on her side and curls protectively over her belly, fingers gently stroking it. "Do you want to hear a lullaby?" she inquires, and when the child moves, she smiles and begins to sing.

_Lullay, lullay, my tiny child,_

_Too soon you'll know the world so wild,_

_Yes all too soon, you will be grown,_

_And I'll bide here, alone, alone._

_The rushing billows you shall ride,_

_And the light of the North Star will be your guide,_

_But yet awhile, I'll have you stay,_

_Lullay my sweet one, my child lullay..._

She stops when the baby stops moving inside her, thinking it is probably sleeping. That lullaby is the same her mother used to sing to her. She wonders when she will be able to sing it fully, and with her child hearing it for real.

Closing her eyes, she tries to imagine herself with a child in her arms, all golden hair and blue eyes, like her. She can almost feel the child's tiny hand curling itself around her finger, holding onto it for dear life. She can see herself nursing the baby, holding it close to her breast as it suckles avidly from her nipple. She can picture herself walking in a big room, full of toys and a wooden crib, with her baby in her arms, trying to lull it to sleep.

The wonderful dream shatters under her eyelids as the atrocious reality reaches her mind. She will _not_ be able to do those things. She won't have enough time. She won't see her baby grow and flourish and learn to walk and talk. She won't see it smile and cry and laugh. Her child will never have the chance to call for its mother after a nightmare or to receive a goodnight's kiss.

The thought brings a fresh wave of tears upon her, and this time there is no stopping them. She sobs and sobs until her tears are spent, and when her eyes are sore she still feels a deep, heart-wrenching suffering.

"I don't want to die," she whispers, choking on her words. "I want to see my baby. I want to be happy. Why can't I be happy?" she babbles to herself, lost in her own world. "What have I done to deserve this?"

She cries some more, and falls asleep to the sound of her own sobs.

* * *

**38 weeks**

* * *

It is a bit early, Gaius is saying, but nothing seems unusual. The baby has apparently grown tired of being inside its mother's belly, and has decided it wants to get out.

Ygraine has been tormented by atrocious pain for hours now, and she knows the time is close. She screams and cries and begs for it to be over, but at the same time she dreads the moment the child will be out, for it will be one of her last.

She feels overwhelmingly hot, and the blanket she has been covered with don't help in the slightest, but she doesn't have the strength or the presence of mind to order them removed. Minutes go by, but to her, they might as well be years. It feels as if it will never be over, and the pain is so much she has become numb to it.

"Push, my lady!" Gaius exhorts her.

"I can see the head!" says the midwife. "Just a bit more!"

Ygraine grinds her teeth together and lets out a scream. It _hurts_. She suddenly notices that she has been holding onto a hand, almost crushing it in her grip. She turns around and finds Uther's worried eyes staring at her. "Come on, my love," he whispers. "You can do it."

That is all she needs. She lets out the loudest scream she can muster — she's surprised it doesn't shatter the windows — and puts all her strength into one last push.

"Goodness," she hears Uther say, and soon she hears the loud wail of a baby echoing in the large chambers.

"It's a boy," says Gaius, and Ygraine absentmindedly hears him fumble with something, probably a knife to cut the umbilical cord, but that's not what she is focused on.

No, her whole attention is dedicated to the tiny, wriggling form held in the midwife's arms. The baby — _a boy_, she reminds herself — is all reddish and covered in something glistening and some patches of blood, and even with its scrunched up face, he is the most beautiful human being Ygraine has ever seen.

She is transfixed by him, gazing at him in wonder. He is her son. _Hers_.

"Give him to me," she begs — and she knows a queen shouldn't beg, but a mother can and so she does — extending her shaking arms towards him. "I need to hold him."

They clean him hurriedly and cover him with a silken blanket, and then hand him to her.

Ygraine is sure she has never felt so _right_, so accomplished and whole and happy as in this moment. She feels Uther's eyes upon her and looks at her side, meeting those green orbs she has always loved. "Arthur," she says feebly. "His name is Arthur."

He nods, speechless, and pecks her on the lips and then kisses Arthur on his minuscule forehead.

The adrenaline of the labor runs out and suddenly Ygraine feels extremely, poisonously weak. Arthur's almost imperceptible weight is too much for her to hold, it feels like he is crushing her chest and he doesn't let her breathe freely. But she knows what is actually happening, and doesn't want to let go of him yet.

She pretends to be fine, and orders them to leave. "I want to spend some time with my son. Alone," she adds, and she is glad that her voice only wavers once, keeping up the pretence of normalcy she is trying so hard to hold onto.

"My lady..." Gaius begins, but she glares at him and he bows, before hastily leaving with the midwife, casting a last, worried glance at his beloved queen and friend.

Uther hasn't left, though. She imagines he doesn't feel compelled to. "I said _alone_, Uther. I want you to leave, too."

He looks at her, shocked. "But, Ygraine..." he tries to object, but like Gaius, he relents when her stern eyes meet his. He kisses her again and exits, closing the room carefully behind him.

Finally on her own, she lets the façade drop and practically melts on the bed and cushion. Her chest feels like it is burning, but she won't let Arthur go until she has breath in her — sadly, she knows it won't be for long.

"Arthur," she says. "Look at me, love."

The baby opens his greyish eyes and tries to focus on her face, but Ygraine knows he can't see her perfectly. It will have to suffice, though. Time is running out.

"I love you," she says, without a moment's thought. "I love you more than I could ever love myself, and even though I won't be able to see you grow, I know you will do many great things."

She pauses to take in a breath that feels like fire, scorching her lungs. "I-I am your mother and I love you. Don't ever forget that. If people tell you I've left, that I've gone far, far away, don't listen to them. I will always be here," she points at his tiny chest, "and I will always look out for you. Even if you can't see me or hear me, know that I will always follow your steps. I'll be like the air — I'll be there, always, and even though you won't feel me, you'll be sure I am right beside you."

Her eyelids feel heavy. She drinks in the sight of him, of his wide, unfocused orbs, the tuft of light blond hair, his tiny fists and his little smile. "I love you," she says again, "I love you with all my heart," she repeats. She wants to make up for all the times she won't be able to say it to him. "I love you, Arthur. Don't ever think otherwise. I love you. I love you."

It has become a mantra, getting softer and softer until she's only moving her lips.

The door is opened by Uther, and she stops to look at him. An eternity seems to pass before his features contort into a frown as he asks, "Ygraine, are you alright?"

He doesn't wait for an answer and runs to her bedside, looking at her worriedly. "Gaius!" he calls, desperate. "Nimueh! Anyone, please, help! Something is wrong!"

The woman can hear some guards running to call help, but knows it will be too late when they arrive. "Uther," she breathes. "Take care of him."

He knows what she means, yet he won't accept it. "Not on my own. You'll take care of him, too, won't you?"

Of course she will, but not in flesh. "Please. Promise me you'll always protect him. Protect our Arthur."

His green eyes are wide and scared and confused, but still he nods, "I promise I will, be it the last thing that I do."

She smiles at him. His face is getting hazier by the minute, and she hopes she is looking right into his eyes. "I love you, Uther. Don't... Don't... Don't change, alright?" she says, trying to fight the sudden sense of wrongness she feels, a premonition of dark times following her death.

Ygraine can't hear her husband's reply or his yells. She looks again at Arthur and holds him as close as she can, bending her neck to kiss his head. "I love you," she murmurs again, and then lets herself fall back.

Her eyelids droop, and her senses fail, but her lips manage to shape for the last time a word. A name, the same name that has been written in the books of Destiny since the dawn of time, and the same name that is now the only thing she knows, the only thing she can feel.

_Arthur..._

Ygraine Pendragon dies with her son everywhere inside her; on her chest, in her eyes, her ears, on her mouth, in her mind and in her still heart.

* * *

_But there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin._

_—Mitch Albom, For One More Day_

* * *

**~FIN. **


End file.
